Forever Young
by Psiphon
Summary: When D'Artagnan finds himself captured with a young girl, he must try to stay alive... for her sake. D'Art!Angst/Whumpage. Torture.
1. Chapter 1

What up guys.

Decided to come back. Yay me.

This will be a multi-chap fic, maybe 5 chapters? I honestly don't know at this stage.

So anyways this will involve Angst and Whumpage, 2 of the most beautiful things in existence…

**Disclaimer: I do not in any way own BBC The Musketeers.**

Pain.

It was all he knew. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. His chest hurt. Everything just… hurt.

It was dark. He couldn't see a thing. Granted night had fallen but his temporary state of blindness fell upon the blindfold blocking his sight.

D'Artagnan sighed, shifting his battered body slowly, as not to disturb the warm bundle that had mistaken him for a pillow.

It had taken time for the bundle to calm enough to sleep, but eventually, exhaustion won.

D'Artagnan ran his hand through her auburn hair.

_She shouldn't be here, _he thought. Neither of them should have been. Lucille had been an innocent bystander in a mission gone wrong. _We had one job._

D'Artagnan didn't remember much before he came to in that room. The Musketeers had been sent to a small village, by order of the king. Rumors of illegal weapons dealings had reached Paris. The Inseparables had been sent to investigate these rumors, leading them to a small town a few days ride from Paris.

A noise dragged D'Artagnan from his thoughts, wrapping his arms protectively around the girl where she lay, head on his chest. As a door swung heavily open with a groan, D'Artagnan felt Lucille stiffen, alerting D'Artagnan to the fact she had awoken. Footsteps were heard, loudly making their way over to where D'Artagnan and Lucille lay, bound on the filthy, muddy floor. Hands shook him, before dragging him none too gently to his feet.

"No! What do you want with him?" a small voice screeched, devastated.

"Lucille, it's alright. I will be fine, I'll be back for you," D'Artagnan said, attempting to calm the girl. Before he knew it, D'Artagnan had been dragged away from where he and Lucille lay and dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. Blinking a few times, D'Artagnan realized the blindfold had been removed.

D'Artagnan found himself in a windowless chamber, chains hanging from the ceiling, weapons lining the walls. D'Artagnans' stomach sunk, realizing what was coming. He pulled at the ropes, binding his hands together in front of him. No luck.

The door burst open. A man entered, draped in black robes, holding something hidden from D'Artagnans' view. The man walked over to a bench in the corner, his back to D'Artagnan. Moments passed before the man turned to face him, hands behind his back.

"As I am led to understand, you are a Musketeer, are you not?" The man's voice barely more than a whisper but managing to ring out in the silence.

"What of it?" D'Artagnan responded, eyeing the man.

"I do believe that was a yes or no question." His voice was low, leaving no room for argument. D'Artagnan didn't answer.

_SLAP!_ The man backhanded D'Artagnan. Groaning, D'Artagnan sat up, wiping his bloodied lip on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Answer me," the man hissed calmly. The man's voice had not changed tone since he arrived. D'Artagnan felt the throbbing of his lip as he spoke.

"Yes," he responded. He glared at the man. As he walked towards the door D'Artagnan tried his luck. "Who are you."

The man paused.

"I ask the questions I think you'll find." He knocked on the door, sounds of knuckles on metal echoed around the chamber. Two more men entered, swords at their hips, face hidden from view. The two giants stomped their way across the floor, none too gently thrusting D'Artagnan from the ground. Chains found their way around D'Artagnans' wrist, covering the ropes. D'Artagnan screamed as his arms were almost pulled from his sockets. He had been dragged off the ground hanging from the ceiling, solely by his wrists. His muscles groaned in response to this sudden action. Swinging, D'Artagnan lifted his head, letting his eyes roam around the dark chamber. The two other men had left, leaving D'Artagnan alone with the first man. The man-made is way slowly over to face D'Artagnan more. As D'Artagnans eyes focused, the man's face came into view more clearly. The man was bald, reasonably old. D'Artagnan found cold, dark eyes staring back at him.

"As I stated before, I ask the questions. You will respond truthfully. Failure to comply will result in pain. Are you ready to begin?" The man spoke, voice making the hairs on D'Artagnans' neck stand up. D'Artagnan didn't respond, allowing his head to sink back to his chest. A hand collided with his face again.

"I said: Are you ready to begin?" he repeated threateningly. D'Artagnan couldn't see any way out of this. He tried to reach the ground with his feet but found they could not reach. This was not good. _For Lucille_, he thought. A rush of adrenaline flooded D'Artagnans body. _For Lucille._

"Do I have a choice?" D'Artagnan spat croakily. The man stood in front of him, face to face, his breath was putrid enough to make flies drop dead. He laughed, sending chills down D'Artagnans spine.

"No, I don't suppose you do," he smirked. "Let's begin."

Hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 2 will be up soon.

Thank you for reading!

~Psiphon


	2. Chapter 2

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"Tell me what their plans are."

"No."

_Slap!_

"How many Musketeers are there in the village?"

No response.

_Whack._

This game was very repetitive. Question after question, each time ending in no answers. What felt like days had passed, leaving no spare inch of D'Artagnans' skin clear from bruising, cuts or burns. D'Artagnan refused to betray his brothers.

Since he was first strung up, D'Artagnan had had no relief. His arms quickly lost all feeling, the weight of his body straining his arms. From what he could tell he had at least one broken rib, the others being at least bruised from his 'interrogation'.

Throughout this, the man executing the damage to D'Artagnan, who he had come to christen Robert, had been very persistent in his questioning. He was consistent. Question after question, never ceasing until he grew bored. Luckily for D'Artagnan, so far Robert's interrogation methods only ranged from beating to leaving burns on D'Artagnan's body to slicing D'Artagnan's skin with a knife.

D'Artagnan's thoughts drifted to Lucille. _God knows what iss happening to the girl. Please let her remain unharmed._

"Please brothers…"

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When Athos looked over his shoulder, he saw that the battles that had spread, were now nearing over. Porthos and Aramis had both contained most of the fighting to two small areas with D'Artagnan nowhere in sight.

Grabbing his sword from a fallen man's stomach, Athos raced off back into the fray of the fighting. They had nearly won. The few bandits who remained were scattering back into the surrounding woods.

Minutes later found the Musketeers victorious. Athos, Aramis and Porthos stood near the outskirts of the village. Still no sign of D'Artagnan.

"This had to be arranged. Hell of a coincidence for bandits to attack right after Musketeers start investigating," Porthos stated softly, as to avoid being overheard by other villagers scurrying about, surveying the damage caused by the fight.

"Indeed. Do you think somebody tipped Fournier off?" Aramis replied.

"If it were Fournier-" Athos started.

"Lucille! _Lucille_!" came a shrill shout. "Lucille! Has anyone seen her?" A woman with stunningly red hair came running. On closer examination, the woman was covered in black smudges, smelling faintly of smoke. "Please. Lucille… I can't find her! Please!"

Aramis approached her first. "Madame, I need you to calm down. Is Lucille your daughter?"

The woman gave a feeble nod, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

"When did you last see Lucille?"

"The house was on fire. I-I tried to get Lucille out… This man came rushing in and grabbed us both. We w-were out just in time. Moments later and we would not have made it!" Throughout the woman's explanation, more tears had fallen, and the woman had started to shake.

Wrapping his arm around the lady, Aramis asked, "This man. Did you happen to recognise him?"

"N-No. He didn't look familiar. In this village, you know everyone. I didn't get a good look at him. When we were out of the house, we were attacked. Th-They took her and knocked the man unconscious." The women fell to the ground, heart-broken sobs wracking her body.

Aramis looked to the others.

"Fournier?"

"That would explain it, if it is in fact D'Artagnan they have taken," Athos suggested, running his hand over his face.

"But where would Fournier take the whelp?" asked Porthos. "There aren't too many places to store him. Someone still should've seen them leaving the village if he fled into the woods."

"Do you think Fournier had inside help?" Aramis questioned, still consoling the sobbing woman on the ground.

Athos responded, "In at least getting out of the village. But during the heat of battle, I doubt anyone would've seen them leaving."

"Fournier wouldn't be stupid enough to show his face though," Porthos pondered, "Especially if he knew Musketeers were here snooping into his goings on. So someone else must've snuck him out, probably on his orders."

"So we find the traitor, we find D'Artagnan." Aramis stood. "Madame," Aramis directed to the woman on the ground next to him, "If you can assist us in finding this traitor, we can find your daughter. This person most likely took her and our friend out of the village. Are you willing to help us?"

With the help of Aramis, the woman stood.

"I will help you. But why would they want Lucille too?" she asked of the Musketeers.

"Most likely as leverage over D'Artagnan. He would do anything to ensure the safety of your daughter." Athos responded, placing his fallen hat back on his head, beginning to make his way back to the village.

"Who would you first suspect to betray the village Madame?"

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"Good evening my young friend."

"Who are you?" D'Artagnan didn't recognise this man. He was new. This man had a smaller build then Robert.

"Now, I believe you have been quite adamant in your refusal to release the information I seek," the man continued, ignoring D'Artagnans' question. "Well my friend, I am here to change that." The man's eyes lit up, a cynical smirk growing across his features. D'Artagnan schooled his expression to that of a neutral look, to hide the chill that raced down his shirtless, beaten back.

"My sources inform me that you and your merry band of Musketeers were investigating an illegal weapons dealership, were you not?" D'Artagnan remained motionless, staring at the wall in front of him.

"Hmm. An auction. Organised by one Jean Fournier, was it not? How did the Musketeers uncover this meeting?" Still no reaction from D'Artagnan. "You will tell me what the Musketeers know of this arrangement or you will face a dire situation indeed." D'Artagnan continued to ignore the man. He will never betray his brothers.

"Very well. If this is how you wish to play the game, certain rules must be changed. You see, generally, when a question is asked, an answer is expected."

Ignoring this, D'Artagnan growled again, "Who are you."

"Ah. You see my friend, I ask the questions around here, _D'Artagnan_, not you_." _This shocked D'Artagnan. Throughout his captivity, no one had used his name. Not even Lucille.

"How do you know my name?"

"Someone wasn't listening, were they? When rules are broken there are consequences that follow." The man walked over to the door, knocked twice then walked over to the table in the corner, followed by two of the guards. "Hold him steady. If he were to move, I'm afraid this will do him a more grievous injury then intended."

As the guards advanced on D'Artagnan, he began to struggle. However, due to his previous beatings and numb arms, this was not effective, as the men still managed to hold him still. One guard held his legs in place, the other gripped his face, pulling D'Artagnan's hair tightly to the left, leaving his right ear exposed. A horrible feeling roared its head deep within D'Artagnan's stomach, setting his nerves on edge.

"Well, my friend, you really should have listened to the rules." The man walked from the old table, each footstep echoing off the walls, brandishing a knife. D'Artagnan's eyes went wide staring at the knife nervously.

"I suppose, if you cannot listen, the least I can do is give you a reason why not." The man's fingers grasped D'Artagnan's right ear, pulling it away from his head. Lifting the knife, the man began to cut.


	3. Chapter 3

D'Artagnan screamed his throat raw as the knife tore his ear away from his head. Pain exploded through him like a bullet. He pulled to get away, but the guards held him to firmly in place. Tears began to flow down his face. D'Artagnan became dimly aware that the guards had released him, leaving him swinging in the air by his wrists. He felt the warm stickiness of blood down the side of his face mixing with his tears of pain.

Suddenly a hand came out of nowhere, slapping his face to the side, right where his ear should have been. A cry ripped from his mouth.

"Tell me. What do the Musketeers know."

D'Artagnan lifted his head from his chest, looking straight into the man's face, and spat.

"Go to hell." The air left his lungs as a hit to his ribs left him unable to draw breath.

"Cut him down. Throw him back in with the daughter of the wench." A sob left D'Artagnan as his arms were finally released after hours. Face down on the ground, D'Artagnan opened his eyes, shifting into a less painful position. His eyes caught something. A part of an old withering sign, under the 'equipment' table. _Ardoin's_. _Why is that familiar. _A pair of large hands picked him none too gently from the ground, forcing him the walk. The pain was starting to become his constant friend. He tried to memorize the route from the chamber but it was a fruitless task. His mind could not concentrate on anything past putting one foot in front of the other.

When a door opened to D'Artagnans left he was rammed through, the door slamming shut behind him. He didn't move, he didn't _want_ to move, instead opting to remain motionless on the dirtied floor. He started when two small hands found themselves upon his bare back. Looking up he saw two ocean blue eyes staring back at him.

"D'Artagnan?" Lucille asked quietly. He sat up fast, pulling on his injured body but not caring. He had to make sure Lucille was okay.

"Lucille! Did they harm you? Are you hurt?" He placed his hands gently on her face, forcing her to look his face on.

"I'm fine. No one has come in since they took you. I thought-" She pulled free from D'Artagnan, drawing herself into a tight ball, hugging her knees. "I thought that they were going to kill you…" D'Artagnan shifted towards her placing his less injured hand on her shoulder.

"Hey. Look at me." He waited until two watery eyes looked back at him. "It will take more than this to kill me." He smiled at her. Lucille laughed softly, wiping her face on her grotty dress. She moved over next to D'Artagnan, resting her face on his chest, wary not to injure him further. They were left in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes.

"Do you have any clues who this- _What happened to your ear!?_" She hissed, staring at the gaping hole in the side of his head.

Knowing he could not deny it D'Artagnan replied: "Why is it that bad?" He laughed softly staring at his legs. He felt the dried blood on his face knowing that it was real. _They had cut off his ear. _He honestly did not know how to react. Dejected was one. Anger was another. He was nervous too. How would others react? Would they reject him? _Don't be stupid it's just an ear. They wouldn't turn him away just because some lunatic cut off his ear. _What would Constance say? _She would probably slap Aramis for allowing it to happen._ He lifted his hand to feel what remained of his ear. Obviously, it still hurt. But from what D'Artagnan could tell, only a small wall of where the ear was attached. _They couldn't even fully remove an ear. Slack._

A shaking brought him out of his thoughts. Lucille had been trying to get his attention. "Why did they cut your ear? Why would they want an ear? Imagine if it was still working. Like you could hear what was happening in another room? How strange would that be?" D'Artagnan gaped at her.

"…what?"

"If you could hear what the men who took your ear off were saying in another room that could help us get out?" Lucille giggled at D'Artagnan's expression. After a moment, D'Artagnan managed a response.

"I guess. It could help. So long as they were discussing their options in the same room as my ear…"

Another giggle escaped Lucille.

"You seem disturbed by this subject," she laughed.

"Just a bit, yes." They lapsed into momentary silence again. D'Artagnans thoughts fell upon his time spent strung up like a piece of meat. He was sickened at how easy Robert and the new man had been able to control him. Their tactics hadn't varied much though. Answer their questions or feel pain. Though Robert hadn't actually removed one of his body parts. The pain that had flooded his arms was both a relief, at being cut down, and complete agony, after hours of them holding his weight from a hook. The marks the chains had left on his wrists were developing into extensive bruising. His wrists were bleeding from him struggling to get away from the pain being inflicted to him. While now his hands weren't bound in chains, they were locked in places by heavy shackles.

Lucille was right. They needed to get out of there. If any harm were to come to Lucille there would be hell to pay. She was young, she still had a life to live yet. He needed a plan.

"Lucille is there anyone in the village who goes by the name Ardoin?" D'Artagnan asked.

"There was. Francois Ardoin. He ran the mill over the hill. He left town a few years ago. Why?"

"There was a sign in the room I was in with that name on it. Have you ever been inside the mill?" Lucille shook her head. "Well, there goes my idea. I don't suppose you have a plan?" He asked nudging Lucille who had, once again, made him into a pillow.

"Well I do, but unless you can fly I doubt it will work."

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It had been nearly two days. Aramis, Porthos, and Athos were each becoming restless. It was taking too long to find D'Artagnan. Two days and still nothing. The group had gone from door step to door step asking questions, but none had led the group to grow suspicious. Lucille's mother, who later declared her name to Anabel, had allowed the men to take refuge in what remained of her small home. While the fire had devastated the top floor, most of the bottom floor was untouched by the flames.

Sitting around a small table located in the kitchen, Aramis voiced "Fournier has been dealing weapons for months now. What's so special about this village?"

"If it were personal for him, he might be back for revenge?" Porthos questioned, rubbing his hand over his face, leaning on the table.

"I have lived here my entire life, no one by the name Fournier has ever lived here. Not in my time at least," Anabel informed them, almost regretfully.

"What if someone living here met Fournier out of the village and began helping him?" Porthos asked.

"If that is the case, that could still be anybody in the village. This isn't helping to narrow the list of suspects," added Athos coldly.

"Oh? I wasn't aware we had a suspect list other than 'The Village' as a whole," Aramis replied smoothly. Athos glared at him in response.

"Stop it. This isn't helping find D'Artagnan," Porthos interrupted.

Deciding to follow a different train of thought, Athos asked: "Has there been anyone in particular who has stood out to you as holding aggression towards this town, or certain people living here?"

Anabel responded, "Not for many years. No one has heard from him since he left. Francois Ardoin. He ran the old watermill. He left after the death of his wife. He blamed the village as a whole. A sickness swept through and killed many, including my husband. He said that if the first carrier in the village hadn't have gotten sick, his wife would still be alive. He was never the same after that. One day he just packed up his gear and skipped town."

"This mill was it ever put back into commission?" Aramis inquired.

"No. The village all thought it best to leave it if Ardoin were to ever return."

"If Ardoin left and later found himself in Leagues with Fournier, it would be the perfect place to build Fournier's weapon dealership. Out of the reach of The Red Guard and Musketeers, and the perfect way for Ardoin to get his revenge if something were to go wrong." Athos stated.

"Would they be dumb enough to use the Mill though?" Porthos asked.

"Only one way to find out." Aramis declared, grabbing his hat and weapons from the table and hurrying out the door, Athos and Porthos following closely behind.

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Sorry for any mistakes….

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Thank you to everyone who has added this story to their favourites/follows, and to those who have stuck around.

This story may go over 5 chaps, still unsure about that.

Psiphon.


	4. Chapter 4

If you are still reading this far,

Then Congrats.

So,

Warning:

To those who do not like harm to children, the next chapters will involve some child harm.

Sorry for the wait too. I have had shit to handle. School is an arse. And hectic. And sport.

Plus writers block when I have actually had time to write this. So this chapter isn't too good.

But I will still try to update as much as possible.

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The Three Musketeers knelt behind a dirt mound. They were looking out towards the Mill, river flowing next to it. The mill itself was worn down from the years spent unattended; walls crumbled, the roof caved in areas and wheel snapped off its stand.

"It's not as guarded as much I expected," murmured Porthos, shifting in his knelt position to lean closer to the other men. Expecting to see at least a group of guards on patrol, Porthos was surprised to find only one man resting on an opening to the Mill surrounded by rubble. "There should be more men not just one lookout." Porthos couldn't shift the feeling that something was wrong.

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"Fresh bread or a ripe apple?"

"Apples. You?"

"Bread," Lucille sighed. She was tucked under D'Artagnan's less injured arm. Less than two hours previous Robert had come to retrieve D'Artagnan again. This time, however, Robert chose to be more hands-on with his approach. The session ended with several fingernails removed, a damaged right arm, bent in ways that arms should not be able to bend, and a dislocated shoulder. Way to ensure he would be unable to _lift_ a sword let alone use one. He would be out for _months_ in recovery.

When D'Artagnan had been unceremoniously thrown back into the cell, he found a sobbing Lucille. Through gasps, she had explained that a couple of men had visited her to appease their own boredom. They left several bruises marring her pale skin. Rage filled D'Artagnans body. _Who would beat a child for their own amusement? _To help calm the girl he decided to play an old game he used to play with his father when they travelled. It seemed to be working so far.

"Bread will always win," she smiled. "Especially how Mother makes it. You have to try it one day!" Her face fell. "I miss her." She mumbled into her D'Artagnan's chest. He squeezed her closer to him, offering his support. "It's alright. We will get out of here. You will see her soon." She didn't respond, face forlorn. D'Artagnan slowly let a breath out, rubbing Lucille's arm. "I miss mine too."

At that, Lucille looked up. He gave her a soft smile.

"Maybe you will see yours after we leave."

.

After sitting in comfortable silence with Lucille for a length of time enabled D'Artagnan to investigate a nagging feeling clawing at his gut. Something was off about the second man who tortured him. _They should not know my name. _There was no way. There were only two conclusions D'Artagnan could draw from that. Either these men are watching the village meaning Athos, Porthos and Aramis were in turn, being watched too, or they had managed to find one of his friends too. If the second was the case, then they would not have given up that information._ And Robert would not have been able to keep that quiet, _D'Artagnan thought darkly. That meant that his brothers had to be careful, as they most likely had their every move observed.

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"So we take out the guard, sneak in, find D'Artagnan and Lucille, then get out." Aramis deadpanned, "That's too simple, even for us."

"When is anything we do ever simple?" Athos quipped. "Every simple mission always turns sideways somehow."

"Don't you just love how that has become truer of late since D'Artagnan joined our ranks?" Porthos added, eyes on the guard ahead of them, who remained at the opening in the wall.

"Exactly why we need to get him out. Who knows what is happening to him, and the longer we wait out here, the longer his pain is prolonged," Athos growled.

"Somethings not right," Porthos interjected. "That guard… he has not looked up ever since we got here and there has been no sign of anyone else. He might just be a bad watchman…" Porthos trailed.

"Or he is merely waiting," Aramis finished.

"We have known from the beginning that Fournier is using this village for his own means," Athos dragged out slowly. "It would be likely that he would have the means to spy on the people."

"If he had men reporting back to him then they might know we are coming already. They could be waiting for us to strike at any moment," Porthos sighed.

"Very good gentlemen. Or maybe they have already caught you before you managed to achieve anything." A sly voice rang out, causing the heads to swivel towards the source of it. They were staring down the barrel of a loaded musket each. Somehow, 15 or so man had managed to sneak behind them, catching them unaware. With swords and muskets pointing at them, they were trapped. Grinning at the three angry faces in front of him, he forced the Musketeers up and into the Mill. "Up. There is someone who wishes to speak to you."

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Roughly, the Musketeers were thrown into a room resembling an entrance chamber. Aramis immediately noticed the three exits teasingly blocked by guards. A man stood pompously, leaning on against a wall.

"Three more musketeers for my collection. This will be fun indeed. The other one has become a bit of a bore of late, I must admit."

Aramis knelt on the floor, hands shackled together. Athos and Porthos were either side of him. Looking up at the man, Aramis asked: "So, which one are you Monsieur?"

The man cocked his head to one side, striding confidently towards the three musketeers.

"Whatever do you mean?" he smiled.

Before Aramis could respond, Athos growled menacing up to the man:

"You know what we mean. Are you Ardoin or Fournier."

"Well, you Musketeers certainly have done some work haven't you," came the gravelly voice, patronizingly. "I suppose it is only fair. Gentlemen let me introduce myself. Jean de Fournier, weapons dealer extraordinaire, at your service. Of course, I already know who you three are. The legendary Athos, Porthos and Aramis." At each name Fournier stepped menacingly towards the three, in the hope to frighten them. Like that was going to work. "Little D'Artagnan has told me all about you three." _I bet he has,_ Aramis thought, wishing he weren't chained up. Eyeing the three, Fournier gestured towards the guards at the furthest exit. Immediately the left. "He is one of a kind, I shall give you that. His screams," he shivered with pleasure, "they will be with me until I die. Although he is slightly _hard of hearing_."

Aramis' stomach dropped. The way Fournier phrased that meant nothing good. _He has done something to D'Artagnan._ Aramis found the others came to the same conclusion he had. Athos was pulling twice as hard at the chains binding him to his brothers, Porthos choosing to send an almighty death glare at Fournier. _If looks could kill_, he thought.

Noises caught the Musketeers attention. The guards had returned, dragging someone trailing behind them. The body was thrown in the centre of the room, in front of where the three where kneeling. D'Artagnan looked up at them. He spat blood on the floor at Fournier's feet.

"D'Artagnan," whispered Athos. At that, D'Artagnan's head whipped around to face them, exposing the blood down his face. His face barely recognisable, every inch bruised or swollen, or covered in dirt and sweat. Remembering Fournier's comment, Aramis searched his friend.

"Your ear…" Aramis felt sick. How dare Fournier breathe in the same room as them. D'Artagnan's face split into what looked like a smile, the swelling making it hard to read. He was happy to see them.

"Wait 'til you see the arm," he wheezed, collapsing back to the floor.

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So… yay?

They are back together.

Again, I am sorry for the wait. I do not know when I will next be able to update, but I promise I will.

~Psiphon.


	5. Chapter 5

Heyy.

Sorry for the wait. As usual, school, sport and life, in general, seem to want to take my free time.

WARNING for child harm.

Congrats again to those still reading. Have a virtual lollipop.

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Athos squirmed under the holds of the guards. They wouldn't let go. Aramis, Porthos and himself had been dragged from the entrance chamber by 4 guards, taken down a dark hall.

Dull pain radiated across Athos' arms, the positions they were in not ideal but currently better then D'Artagnan's predicament. Athos couldn't bare looking at him, the guilt too much to handle. _It's all my fault,_ he thought stubbornly as pain jabbed its talons into his heart. If he had paid more attention then D'Artagnan would not be here, he should have been protecting him, know he had no idea whether he would even survive.

Porthos cry jarred him from his guilt.

"Get up," a guard said, gravelly voice echoing off the stone walls. Porthos had managed to find himself face down on the grimy floors.

"I-I can't," Porthos stuttered, voice cracking. It sounded so unlike him Athos nearly laughed. "I'm not strong enough."

"I said: get up!" the guard commanded, grasping Porthos under the arms, almost successful. Porthos fell back down on his knees, his arms wrapped around the guard as best as he could while still chained.

"Please! Don't make me! I can't, please!" he begged between gasps.

"Can't you see? He is not himself! He is not strong enough to continue!" Aramis shouts rang out louder than the guards, clearly worried for his friend.

The guard growled at Aramis, "Then I suggest you carry him, or he will not make it at all."

Aramis glared his response, before bending down and assisting Porthos up, before they continued to a room they were unceremoniously thrown in.

Making himself comfortable against the cold wall, Athos waited until the footsteps from the guards faded before voicing his question.

"Are you going to explain that dramatic scene or would you rather I guess?"

"Well I do love to see you struggle," chuckled Porthos, "But we need to help D'Artagnan." Porthos twisted himself, wriggling around on the ground for what felt like ages, before revealing a bundle of keys. Athos shook his head.

"I don't want to know."

"Each guard had keys. Bit stupid if you ask me. One of them is bound to fit these chains."

Moments later, each Musketeer was released from their chains, rushing through the now opened door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Your friends failed." Fournier couldn't help but laugh.

D'Artagnan didn't move, continuing to lay on the floor. It hurt to breathe let alone react to Fourniers' taunts. _Head over heart_, a voice whispered in his head, sounding suspiciously like Athos.

"You should have learnt by now, Musketeer. I always get what I want," Fournier said, laughter booming around the chamber. With one last glance towards the pile of blood and dirt on the ground, Fournier turned foot and headed towards one of the doors that D'Artagnans friends weren't taken down.

"Why."

Fournier stopped dead.

"Excuse me?"

"Why? Why this village, why this life? You could have done anything, yet you turn to illegal weapons dealings," D'Artagnan finished, voice crackling from dehydration. He still hadn't moved, he was too tired.

Fournier considered the question. He seemed to be genuinely intrigued by the query, like a child with a new plaything.

"Survival. I was sick of being unable to live. Money seems to be the key to life and to happiness. I am but a humble businessman, looking to make a profit to help make a difference, and eliminate threats that may discourage profits." Fournier marched over to D'Artagnan, kneeling down in front of him so they could see each other very clearly. "That is where you come in," said Fournier, voice turning cold. He gripped D'Artagnan by the neck, lifting him off the ground with ease. "You and your pesky Musketeers nearly destroyed everything." D'Artagnan tried to get the hand on his neck to release him, with no luck. "You nearly ruined everything, my empire." D'Artagnan was beginning to see spots, gasping for precious breath that wasn't finding his lungs. "All because some poor simple _peasants_," he spat, "were being harmed."

The hand around D'Artagnan's neck released, allowing him to take a precious gasp of air. Fournier marched mightily to the centre of the room.

"They were worthless, hardly worth investigating." Fournier drew his musket. "But unfortunately, those insignificant beings will be your downfall." He raised his arm, aiming straight at D'Artagnan's immobile form on the ground.

"You're wrong."

D'Artagnan whipped his head around painfully, as to source out the new voice.

He rasped, "No Lucille!"

But this did not stop her. She moved across the floor as though she were strolling through a meadow, finishing in front of D'Artagnan. She faced Fournier with a strong sense of confidence that may be mistaken for stubbornness.

"Just because people live with less to their name doesn't make them worth less than any noble. It just means they are resourceful enough to survive and be happy with less. You have no right to choose who deserves to die based solely on that judgement. You will not harm D'Artagnan or anybody else ever again." Lucille finished with a glare directed straight to Fournier, who grew angrier by the minute at being defied by a young girl. D'Artagnan marvelled. She spoke with wisdom well beyond her years.

Knowing she was only fuelling Fournier's anger, D'Artagnan looked around for an escape. Six guards still remained, the others have not yet returned from escorting Porthos, Aramis and Athos down a hallway. _Funny, _he thought, _those guards should have returned by now._

"How dare you, child! Know your place in the presence of your betters!" Fournier stepped forward, musket raised.

"No!" D'Artagnan exclaimed.

"I do know my place amongst my betters. You, however, are not one."

Time seemed to slow down. All at once, it appeared that hell had broken loose.

Gunshots rang out around the room. D'Artagnan saw Fournier fire his musket, still aimed at Lucille. At the same time, Fournier appeared to fall to the ground. Frantically the guards surged forward, looking to protect their leader. Their paths were blocked by two large figures. Athos and Porthos. At the sight of his brothers D'Artagnans' chest filled with joy, before quickly turning away from them, searching for Lucille. Adrenaline pumping, he used all the strength he had left, lifting himself off the ground, diving for Lucille. He pinned her to the ground, using his body to protect her from the hostility surrounding them.

When everything began to calm down, D'Artagnan released Lucille from his hold. She looked shaken, but unharmed. _He missed_, he breathed, relief filling him.

Looking up he saw Porthos and Athos disarm the last of the guards, falling to the ground. Aramis made himself known, running into the room, gun smoking. He watched as Aramis located him on the ground protecting Lucille.

"Are you alright? Were you harmed further?" asked Aramis desperately.

"I'm fine," Lucille replied nervously. By now, Athos and Porthos had finished with the guards, and were making their way over to the group of three.

A flash of light and a sudden movement from the opposite side of the room drew D'Artagnan's attention. He heard Athos shout, but he was too late.

Fournier fired his gun.

Lucille fell to the floor, motionless.

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So… yay or nay….

Anyways, one last chapter until this is finished. I will try to put more angst in it.

~Psiphon.


	6. Chapter 6

Three words:

My. Computer. Broke. Otherwise, this would have been up ages ago. It broke, I couldn't get any of my files off it so that meant I had to rewrite this from memory ughhh.

So… I'm sorry.

WARNING for child harm.

Congrats again to those still reading.

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The candlelight flickered, forcing the shadows to dance across Lucille's almost lifeless face. The unnerving silence was punctured only by the ring of Porthos' snores. Aramis ran his hand through his hair once again. He had elected to stay watch through the night.

The physician had tended to Lucille as best he could through Aramis' assistance. For now, only time would tell if Lucille would make it. The physician had ruled that if she managed the night then she had a higher chance of surviving. But with the risk of infection, Lucille had an incalculable fight ahead of her.

Leaning forward in his wooden chair as silently as possible, Aramis pulled the blanket from Lucille, rechecking the bandages that most of the top half of her body. The gunshot had left the bullet in Lucille's shoulder above the heart. If she survived the night, it would be unclear as to how much control she had over her movements.

It didn't look good. Aramis looked over to where D'Artagnan lay upon a spare cot made up by Lucille's mother Anabel. She had been devastated to have her daughter returned in such poor condition, but she was willing to help nevertheless. She had eventually passed out from exhaustion in the next room over. The group sought shelter from an Inn, one of the only buildings that remained undamaged from the Bandits raid.

D'Artagnan had passed out the moment they had entered the inn, stubbornness eventually giving in. While Aramis helped the physician, Athos and Porthos had tended to D'Artagnan, cleaning his wounds. Aramis had been shocked to find several knife wounds littering his chest and back, luckily none needed stitches. D'Artagnan had all his fingernails removed, in their place were scabs festering over his fingertips. After soaking his fingers in bowls of warm water it was found that no extensive damage was done, though it would have hurt. More worryingly, D'Artagnan's arm was twisted, broken and dislocated. It had been set and placed in a sling, but it would take him months before he could use a sword again. _D'Artagnan would not enjoy that_, Aramis thought sullenly. D'Artagnan had obviously been beaten, the bruises covering every inch of his face and chest a sure sign. His ribs and cheek had been broken, only increasing the bruising and swelling D'Artagnan had. As for his ear, D'Artagnan had been lucky. It appeared that D'Artagnan would still have full hearing, after cleaning all the blood and dirt from the gaping hole left behind.

As far as physical injuries go, if D'Artagnan can avoid infection then he should be fine. However, until D'Artagnan awoke, there was no telling how D'Artagnan had been affected mentally.

All Aramis could do was wait.

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Noises.

They faded in and out of his mind, coming and going. He couldn't make sense of them. They mulled together, overlapping each other, forming one constant sound.

After what felt like days, D'Artagnan slowly eased his swollen eyes open. Once again, the pain was his constant friend. The sun was bright, making it harder to observe his surroundings, yet D'Artagnan did not care. This warmth from the sun was a welcome change from the cold, damp and dark conditions The Mill exhibited.

Suddenly, the dryness of his throat made itself known, leaving D'Artagnan struggling through a coughing fit.

"Easy. Just breathe." The voice was familiar. _Aramis._ He helped D'Artagnan slowly manoeuvre into a more comfortable sitting position. Something cool pressed on his lips. D'Artagnan drank the water, soothing his dry throat.

The faces of D'Artagnans' friends began to become clearer. Aramis located closest to D'Artagnan, while Porthos and Athos sat on the end of the bed, looking on concerned as D'Artagnan calmed his breathing.

"How are you feeling?" asked Aramis, placing the cup down on a bench.

"Everything hurts," groaned D'Artagnan.

"Well at least he's bein' honest," Porthos chuckled. D'Artagnan laid his head back against the wall, taking in their surroundings. He didn't recognise where they were.

"Where are we?"

"An inn on the outskirts of the town. Most of the buildings were destroyed by the bandits when they attacked, except the Inn. The owners are kindly letting us remain here until we are able to return back to Paris," Athos supplied.

_Ah. The bandits. Where everything had gone downhill._ It seemed like months since they had first arrived. Then he had been taken and _tortured_. His memories returned to him in flashes; men beating him, strung up off the ground, comforting Lucille-

"Lucille!" D'Artagnan gasped suddenly, fighting hands that gently held him back. "Lucille! is she alright?"

"Calm yourself," Athos murmured. "If you tear your stitches Aramis shall be very upset."

"Is Lucille alive?"

"She is alive. She is yet to awaken," Aramis responded soothing D'Artagnan back down onto the bed. He motioned to the second bed, placed parallel to D'Artagnan's. D'Artagnan looked towards it, his heart constricted seeing the motionless figure laying upon it. _She looks dead._

Before D'Artagnan could ask, Aramis continued. "She has a gunshot wound to her shoulder. The physician believes she shall make a full recovery, so long as she avoids infection. But it is healing nicely for now." Aramis sat back in his chair. "You, however, have a long road of recovery ahead of you. Your arm will put you out of sword fighting for two months at the least, my friend," said Aramis, staring at D'Artagnan sympathetically, understanding what he was thinking.

D'Artagnan knew his arm would prevent him from training and going on missions. Presently, he didn't mind too much, with Lucille's life hanging so precariously in the balance like it was, he was a tad preoccupied.

So instead D'Artagnan inquired: "How long was I out for?"

Porthos more than willingly responded.

"Three days. All but fell over from exhaustion as soon as you stepped foot in the room." Porthos chuckled as he noticed D'Artagnan struggling to keep his eyes open. "You should get some more sleep, whelp. You've been through one hell of an ordeal."

"No." As much as D'Artagnan wished to, he needed answers. He had too many gaps in his knowledge. He wanted to understand. "I need to know what happened."

While this caused some raised eyebrows, the others weren't surprised.

"Where would you like to start?" Athos asked.

"The beginning."

The three shared a look.

"We were fighting the bandits, which were sent by Fournier. You were nowhere in sight. We were about to start searching for you when Anabel, Lucille's mother came out frantic after she couldn't find her daughter," Porthos began, slowly beginning, unsure of how to approach this situation. Aramis soon took over.

"She explained that a mysterious man bravely rushed to her aide, rescuing her daughter from a burning building. We assumed this man to be you," Aramis sent a sly smirk to where D'Artagnan lay looking up towards them. "Who else would it have been?" he chuckled.

Athos continued. "We figured that it was Fournier, with some inside help from one of the villagers. It took us a while, but eventually, with the help of Anabel, we found a mill owned by one Francois Ardoin."

"Ardoin?" D'Artagnan asked, something clicking in his mind. Images of an aged sign, in a dark cellar, flashed before him.

"Do you recognise the name?" Aramis questioned.

"It's nothing. The name was on a sign," sighed D'Artagnan. "I guessed we were at the mill but without definite proof, it remained as speculation."

"Well you were correct," smiled Porthos. "When we arrived at the mill there was a guard. Something was off though. Before we could even attempt a rescue mission the rest of the guards had found us. Turns out they knew we were coming." At the look on D'Artagnan's face, Porthos stopped. "What?"

D'Artagnan sat up slightly.

"Just to check: You spent who knows how long searching a village for a spy, then rush off to a mill where a weapons dealer may be located. You didn't stop to think that maybe, said traitor was watching you and told the weapons dealer you were on your way?"

The silence spoke for itself.

Groaning, D'Artagnan fell back against the wall as softly as possible, as not to injure himself further.

Abashedly, Aramis said: "I must admit, it was not our finest idea."

D'Artagnan's mumbles went unanswered.

Porthos coughed, "Moving onwards."

Athos shook his head at the others' antics. They were attempting to bring a sense of normalcy back to the conversation, which he greatly appreciated. D'Artagnan seemed to be coping. But it was just the beginning, and Lucille was still in a precarious situation.

"It was at this point when we met back up with you."

D'Artagnan cocked his head.

"How did you escape?" he asked.

"Uh," stuttered Porthos, "I stole some keys."

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The awkward silence that followed left the occupants in the room uncomfortable.

Porthos, Athos and Aramis were each individually contemplating how to broach the subject.

D'Artagnan, obviously knew the topic was coming.

"I know you're going to ask."

Three heads flicked towards him.

"How do you mean?" Athos asked him, voice calm. D'Artagnan refused to look up at them, to see the disappointment, the judgment.

"You want to know what happened," D'Artagnan continued, fidgeting with his blanket. "I don't know how to feel about it. Until I do," he spoke softly, "I do not wish to speak about it."

Tentatively placing a hand on D'Artagnans' uninjured shoulder, Aramis chose his next words carefully.

"It is perfectly normal to be confused after situations like this-" he began.

"I don't wish to talk about it. Please," he finished. He awkwardly shuffled, laying back down flat on the bed, drawing the blankets over his shoulders as best he could on his own. This signalled an end to the conversation to the others, as abrupt as it may have been.

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Horrible place to end I know.

For anyone wondering, D'Artagnan was tortured for about three days and then was unconscious for another 3 days. This story takes place over the span of a week.

The original version had more, and actually finished the story, but I didn't want to leave you all waiting for another week or so before I could rewrite that.

And because I'm going away for the next few days I needed to get this up.

Again, I'm sorry for the long wait. And any mistakes. It was slightly rushed.

But not much I could do when your computer decides to jump off a table.

~Psiphon.


	7. Chapter 7

He was trapped. Suffocating. He couldn't move.

It was dark. Too dark.

He ran. He had to escape.

A voice echoed around him, making his skin bristle, chills racing down his spine.

"_Tell us._"

He had to keep moving.

"_Answer me._"

She screamed.

_No! Not Lucille!_

"_Tell us._"

"_No. I will never betray them._"

She was still screaming. That painful, terrified scream.

"_Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her._"

"_You didn't listen._"

"_No! She is innocent. Let her go. Hurt me instead. Please!_"

"_Actions have consequences. Consequences. Consequences..._"

"_No! Lucille!_"

She was still screaming. It wouldn't stop.

"…_consequences, consequences, consequences…_"

"_LUCILLE!_"

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"D'Artagnan! Wake up!"

He gasped awake. As sweat ran down his face, he tried to catch his breath, resulting in a coughing fit, aggravating his injuries. Clutching at his battered chest, he groaned. A cup appeared in front of his face, water spilling over the top. He accepted the cup eagerly, wishing to disperse the dryness of his throat. As he drank, he noticed the others, each huddled around the bed looking on worried. Aramis, on his left, took the cup from his hands, replacing it with a cloth. Slowly, D'Artagnan edged his way into a sitting position. Letting his head lean back against the wall, he closed his eyes, letting the aftershock of the dream wash over him; the chills down his spine, blood coursing through his veins, voices from the dream, _consequences, consequences_-

"That cloth was meant for you to wipe your face."

Opening his eyes he saw Aramis smiling gently towards him. Tentatively, he used his less injured arm to wipe his forehead, still covered with sweat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Porthos quietly asked from his position behind Aramis.

D'Artagnan didn't respond immediately. He knew he should talk about it, he had seen what bottling up emotions does to people. He just didn't know where to start.

"It's perfectly fine if you don't feel up to talking just yet," Aramis added. "Just take your time."

D'Artagnan sighed. He would have to tell them eventually, now was as good as ever.

"Perhaps start here and work your way back," Athos said, taking a seat in one of the chairs around the bed.

"What do you mean?" D'Artagnan asked.

"What did you dream of?"

Bowing his head, D'Artagnan sighed. Now was as good as any other time.

"It was pitch black. I was running. I couldn't breathe, so I tried to escape. Then all I could hear was Fournier telling me there would be consequences, over and over again." He hadn't looked up at all, instead, he became aware of a hole in his blanket and invested to make it larger.

"Then Lucille started screaming. I saw her beaten and dying body. There was nothing I could do to help her." He continued to pick at the blanket, refusing to look at his friends.

"That's how it was. If I refused them, or blatantly ignored an order, I would have to face the consequences.

"It was how I lost my ear. The first time he came into the room. I didn't listen," he said, voice cracking.

His friends had yet to speak, but D'Artagnan continued.

"They mostly beat me. The one time I managed to escape my chains, they caught me. Snapped my arm over the edge of a table. _Actions have consequences_," he laughed bitterly. "My shoulder came out from struggling against the chains.

"I think they drew a line at harming children though. Well, Fournier did anyway. He never harmed her but threatened to on occasions. I returned from one session to find some of his men had beaten her. Most of the time I tried to distract her our situation. Played a few games to help cheer her up… world of good that did…"

He hated it. He felt like destroying something. The pent-up anger and frustration had finally reached its limit.

He had failed to protect her. He ran his hands through his hair to help relieve his stress, inevitably failing.

"It is not your fault," Aramis said knowingly, understanding written all over his face.

Raising his gaze from the bed he stared at Lucille's unmoving form on the bed.

"She's too young. Now she will remain like that. Forever young. Because of me."

Leaning forward, Athos gripped D'Artagnan's leg.

"D'Artagnan. Look at me," he said softly, not continuing until brown met blue. "This is not your fault."

"She wouldn't have even been in that situation if it weren't for me."

"No," rumbled Porthos, voice echoing through the silent room. "If it weren't for you, that poor girl would have died a horrible, slow death in a house fire." Shaking his head, Porthos continued on. "It may seem cruel, but at least she has a better outcome this way."

"She shouldn't be here in the first place," D'Artagnan said, frustrated.

"No, she shouldn't." Aramis, stood up from his place, walking to Lucille's side, checking on her wound. "She should be out enjoying herself, laughing, having a good time-"

"Enjoying her mothers' freshly baked bread," D'Artagnan added, unable to control the small smile gracing his features.

After a short moment's silence, Aramis continued.

"That too. But yet here she is, gunshot to her shoulder, fighting for her life. Your hands were tied, D'Artagnan. Literally. You could not have prevented it. Lucille's lucky she had you to protect her for as long as she did."

The conversation was cut off my pained groans.

_Lucille_.

D'Artagnans' heart nearly jumped through his chest. Frantically, he rolled less then skilfully of the edge of the bed, holding his broken hand to his chest. He slowly made his way to Lucille, knowing full well that Porthos and Athos were watching him with concern.

Aramis mumbled softly to Lucille. To D'Artagnan's joy, she was staring at Aramis. She looked horrible, face pale with sweat dripping.

But she was awake.

D'Artagnan grabbed a cloth and began to wipe her face. He watched as her eyes slowly drifted around the round before finding D'Artagnan.

"D-D'Artagnan," she whispered her voice hoarse and filled with pain. He felt his heartbreak. He couldn't stop her pain.

"Hey, you're alright," he reassured her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.

Lucille shook her head softly, eyes clenched.

"…y-you were hurt," she whispered, her eyes open again, staring into D'Artagnan's soul.

Laughing softly, he replied, "I'm fine."

And he meant it.

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_BONUS MOMENT:_

"I still don't understand," D'Artagnan said, breaking the silence. Lucille had drifted off to sleep not long ago.

"Understand what?" Porthos asked.

"What happened to Ardoin?"

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The End.

Lmao.

Basically, it's a you choose what happened. Unless I one day get around to writing a sequel as a reviewer suggested.

I do have more story ideas though.

Something to do with D'Artagnan's mother (cuz I love me some angst ;) ) and possible Italian heritage? There have been some stories with Italian D'Artagnan, and I think it's really cool, so I am taking ideas.

Past comes back to haunt him. Possible torture fic, most definitely some angst.

Maybe a humour fic.

Whump Alphabet thingy. Yep, there goes my ability to English.

If you have other ideas let me know!

~Psiphon


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